A Medio Vivir
by Clara Fonteyn
Summary: Drabbles about everyone who ever was anybody anyone cared about...or didn't. Fluff. Angst. Anger. Happiness, indifference, second thoughts, and everything else under the gods...and the gods themselves. In English, despite the title. Just added REAL FLUFF!
1. Silent

Annabeth was lying next to him, across the bed. It was a little awkward at first, but since neither of them lived alone-and the door always _had _to be open-eventually it got better.

Today, neither of them were talking. Homework had long been finished. Now Annabeth was listening to her music through her headphones and reading what she called a by-the-way book-a trashy romance.

He watched her. Every time she lifted her hand and pushed back the curl of ashy gray hair that would fall in her eyes; every time she scratched the back of her neck; every time a little smile tugged at the corners of her lips; every time she rolled her eyes at something a character said; and the one time her mouth fell open in a perfect _o_, he watched. He _saw_.

He was astounded by how much she told him when she said nothing at all.

**xoxox**

_To Anna145 and KarmaBear2050._


	2. Trample

Thalia stared at Annabeth. At Annabeth as she walked down the aisle, at Annabeth as she stood at the altar, at Annabeth as she leaned in toward Percy and then as she leaned away a kiss later.

Annabeth turned suddenly, and a glint in her hair caught Thalia's eyes. Pins set with some dark blue jewels held up the elaborate twist and knot of blond hair. Dewy morning sunlight caught the faceted stones perfectly and threw pale blue shadows across the ground and onto the twisted Victorian furniture outside.

Thalia reached up her fingers to her own hair, which was down like everyday. The spiky hair reached her shoulders, like it had ten years ago, and like it would every day for the rest of eternity. Or when she died; whatever came first.

Thalia watched as first one pin, then another, and then another and another and another struggled to hold the thick blond knot, and then all of a sudden, every single pin gave up and her hair slipped out. She watched the hair come loose from the braids and fall in waves to the middle of Annabeth's back.

Annabeth laughed and let the pins lay on the ground. She turned around and held up her bouquet of dark blue and white flowers...Thalia thought that they were roses, but wasn't sure...and threw them into the crowd of eager women-and Thalia.

Thalia caught the bouquet.

She leaned down and smelled them. They smelled like love. Like happiness. Like normality.

But hers was only a half life.

_Cruel joke_, she thought, and trudged out of the grove, ignoring Annabeth's concerned glance.

It began to rain. She didn't know whether to thank her father or to curse him.

She decided to do nothing at all. Like always.

She dropped the bouquet somewhere between the chairs and the gate, and she stepped on them, trampling the delicate blooms. She didn't notice.

Annabeth had beautiful hair.****

xoxox

_Ricky Martin. For being my muse._


	3. Beribboned

"What are those?" Castor, my son, asked as he patted the bundle of folded papers on my lap. I looked down and stared at the girly-pink ribbon that was wrapped around it, smiling as I remembered to whom it belonged.

"Pictures. Drawings," I replied as I glanced back out at the strawberry fields.

"Who drew them?" he inquired.

I sighed and looked at him, his blue eyes meeting mine, filled with complete curiosity.

"My daughter." I tried to hide the sadness in my tone.

"I didn't know you have a daughter!" he chimed, a wide smile on his face.

"I don't," I responded quickly, shielding the emotions that hit me.

**xoxox**

_Meh. Not especially proud of this one. That's why I refuse to dedicate it. Sorry._


	4. Nature

I've heard it all.

"For king and country!"

"Remember the Alamo!"

"Heil Hitler!"

"¡Viva la revolución!"

"Democracy!"

"Freedom!"

You know what humans fight for?

Money. Power.

Someone, somewhere, wants to own what he can only read on a map, collect profits from it.

They send men to die for grand ideals, false notions.

It's inevitable.

Their nature.

And no matter if they are fighting if for some revolution that, really, means nothing, or for a child of mine who has brainwashed them into an ideal of glory, they all die. One by one hundreds by hundreds thousands by thousands _millions upon millions _they all die.

And I…

I am collector of the dead.

Soothing the igneous ache in my being with the dying and the dead, boys screaming for mothers and men for wives they'll never see again.

It's inevitable.

_My_ nature.

It's…my…nature

It…is…my…nature…

It…is…nature…

It's nature.

I'm not sorry.

**xoxox**

_I don't get it. It's about Hades, though. I think. Dedicated to hp-not harry potter for not being afraid to tell me that my comeback writing was horrific._


	5. Stagnant

She watched them wilt every day until there was almost nothing left to wilt. But she held onto them because they were flowers from before the war. Flowers she'd picked specially on a rare drizzly day..._picked_, not grown magically. On that day she felt the need to go out into the dirt…not soil but _dirt. _She'd been so meticulous in picking ones that were the most beautiful.

They stayed alive for weeks…and then she watched them perish.

On a sleepless night, she took them down to the trash in the kitchen and let them go.

Because they were dead.

**xoxox**

_Katie Gardner._

_A real drabble, for once._

_And this one is dedicated to Anna145. It's exactly 100 words, Anna. I hope you're happy! Kidding…_

_Happy September, Ana. And no, the-only-one-n-in-your-name is not a spelling error. :)_


	6. Charm

Slowly, I tip out all eleven beads on the necklace. The first one. _Luke_. The second. _Luke_. The third. _Luke_. The fourth, fifth, sixth._ Luke_. The seventh. _Percy_. The eighth. _Percy_. The ninth, tenth, eleventh. _Percy_.

I need to get rid of all of them.

I see so many silver charms in the store, each one catching light and throwing it straight at my eyes, that I immediately wish for sunglasses.

"Here you are," the lady behind the counter shows me a tray.

Each row is made of owls staring at me. "Owls are very _in_ right now, you know," she explains when she catches me glaring at the tray like a madwoman.

I ask for an 'A' charm instead, buying the first one I see and twisting it onto the necklace.

On the way out, I throw the eleven beads in the trash bin.

**xoxox**

_Karina. She's on here as KarmaBear2050. Thanks for everything!_

_Oooh…Annabeth and Percy broke up…_

_145 words._


	7. Homecoming

She steals up quickly, dresses in the cotton dress that he bought her last summer.

She looks at the clock and sees that there's another half hour until he needs to get up. She knows that he won't get up until she shakes him awake.

He won't get up.

She penned in a letter all the things she couldn't say, too many promises he broke, and she told him that she needed to _live my life_ and the way the boards creaked and she told him she was never coming home.

She rimmed her eyes in black then and knocked her makeup bag to the floor in front of the bathroom, maybe hoping that he would hear and wake and stop her, but it didn't happen.

She turned to watch the windows and wondered what he was dreaming.

She _used _to know.

In her imagination she's a million miles away, too many promises broken all the way. And slips out onto the rainy street that's empty this morning.

Nobody on the plane notices her.

She's just a girl…

…she's never coming home.

**xoxox**

_Who is it? Thalia? Annabeth? Clarisse? Sally? Silena?_

_You decide that._

_172 words._

**xoxox**

_Never Coming Home_ by Sting.


	8. Maybe

"Luke."

He looks up from his oblivion. "Yeah?" Maybe she's finally talking to him. Maybe-

"Dinner's on the table."

Or maybe not.

He gets up slowly. The ache in his bones, in the joints, has set in prematurely. He's young but his gait is that of a seventy year old man, and he grimaces as he makes the painful journey into the living room.

He takes his seat at the head of the table, keeping his head down so he doesn't see the beautiful blonde girl sitting across the table, twelve spaces away.

Annabeth keeps her head down, too.

They eat in silence like every day. From the windows they watch the destruction of the world.

Maybe tomorrow will be different.

Luke prays…too late.

**xoxox**

_Ricky Martin's Tal Vez._

_AU, of course._

_I really need to take a break from depressing stuff, don' t I? Maybe…tal vez!…the next one will be fluff?_


	9. Drunk

Annabeth rolled over in her sleep underneath Thalia's jacket. Luke hooted with laughter.

"…and I said, the monkey isn't a walrus until it has three legs and a pregnant vampire hanging off of it, and he said that I was wrong, and so I tackled him. And then I think broke his neck." Thalia banged her fists on his bag three times. The fourth upset her balance, and she fell sideways. It set Luke off into another fit of derisive laughter.

This time Annabeth woke up, but she was too tired to do anything but stare at the two adult figures in her life. They didn't notice.

"I'm such a klutz, I'm scared of heights," Thalia remarked.

"Yo mama so fat…her eyes are blue!"

This time Thalia was the one who went into hysterics. "My mama's eyes is black!" she shouted. "You'se wrong!"

The grammar errors in Thalia's statements were too much for Annabeth to handle, tired as she was. "No, Thalia!" she giggled. "Your mama's eyes are black. Luke is wrong!" she giggled some more, and this time when she fell back asleep, nightmares stayed away.

Luke and Thalia met eyes over the black bag.

"We should pretend to be drunk more often," Luke said.

"I agree. It does wonders for stress," Thalia agreed.

**xoxox**

_It's 213 words, but que mas da, eh? I like it. Not funny, but I like it._

_For FilmyFurry. :)_

_xoxo Mira_

_P.S. Leave a review? Thanks. :)_


	10. Quibble

"We can't go in there."

"Why not?"

"They have mistletoe hanging over the door."

"So?"

"So, Percy, if you walk under mistletoe, you're supposed to kiss your significant other."

"So?"

"So I don't want to do that."

"Why? Do you hate kissing me?"

"No! But—"

"But what?"

"Well, if _you_ want to be an exhibitionist…"

"Annabeth. It's a kiss. We're not going to do the deed…at the mall...Come _on_!"

"No! I'm not going to— _Well!_"

"Yeah."

"You know that when I said _kiss_ I meant just that? Not making out?"

"Oh. My bad."

"And… you know, we actually have to walk _under the mistletoe._"

"Well, we _almost_ made it…"

**xoxox**

_A/N: Ha ha ha! Something non depressing…for once…since all the shops in the mall are set up for Christmas… yeah._

_Enjoy the fluffy Percabeth…it's probably an annual event…_

_110 words_


	11. Effort

**Duuude. I haven't updated this since…let's see…the eleventh of November, 2010. And here it's April 18****th****, 2011. WTF is wrong with me? I totally forgot I was even writing this—or **_**not**_** writing it, as the case may be.**

**Well, **_**shit**_**!**

**Hope someone still reads this. Come kick my ass in a review? Thanks.**

He entered the Hermes cabin. "Hey, dad," he nodded easily at Hermes, as if seeing his father there was an everyday occurrence.

"Son," Hermes answered, but his gaze was focused on a low stone wall outside the doors. Names of every being—demigod, centaur, nymphs, dryads, satyrs—who died in the Second Titan War—on _either_ side—were etched in grey on it.

In the middle was printed: Luke Castellan, saver of Olympus, bearer of the curse of Achilles, hero and son of Hermes. Percy Jackson had refused to accept the title or the glory, choosing to honor Luke instead.

_You can honor Luke's memory. You can honor Luke by recognizing your other children._

Hermes tried to whisper something to his son, but nothing came out.

He placed his weathered hand on his son's head for a moment, and then disappeared in a flash of brilliant light.


End file.
